Chapter Sixteen #2
back to when I was a naive twenty-five-year-old reporter. I was
partnered with a senior writer to do a story on a serial killer
from Brooklyn. You’ve heard of the Dollhouse Murders?”
Ry paused and Wes nodded, his brow creased
in concern.
“Several young people in their twenties were
raped and killed,” Ryker went on. “The killer posed their corpses
with a doll cradled in their arms. Anyway, when they arrested the
killer, everyone was vying for an opportunity to interview him. We
got our chance. The killer took a liking to me—I guess due to my
age and similarity to his male victims—and insisted that I be the
one to interview him. I visited him several times in jail, but by
the third time, I’d had enough. He was just toying with me. He
didn’t give me any real information that I could use for our story.
My colleague kept pushing me to go back. I refused.” Ryker paused
again.
“The killer escaped when they were
transferring him to the courtroom for his bail hearing. He showed
up outside my office when I was leaving late one night. Guess he
had access to the Web to search out where I worked. I often headed
out the back exit in the alleyway, and he was waiting there. And
he… He grabbed me and punched me, knocked me out cold, and
apparently started to drag my body away until another colleague
exited the building and scared him off. I was in the hospital for
two days with a concussion.”
“Jesus, Ry. I don’t know what to say. Fuck,
I’m so sorry.”
Ryker nodded and continued, “When I was
released from the hospital, I withdrew from everything. I quit my
job. I couldn’t leave my apartment because I was so scared. They
finally caught him a few months later, but by that time I was
already a mess. Finally, my mom and my friends got me to a doctor,
and I gradually got better. Medication, therapy, self-defense
classes, I did it all. And I discovered creative writing. Mac was
instrumental in encouraging me. At first it was an escape, but it
was also very healing. It gave me purpose again. I’ve made a good
life for myself, but sometimes, despite my best efforts, the
nightmares come back.” Ryker gave a huge sigh as he finished.
“I wish there was something I could say to
make things better. Can I ask what happened to the man that
assaulted you?”
“He was eventually tried and convicted of
first-degree murder of four of his eleven victims. They dropped the
assault charges from his plea deal, but he was still sentenced to
life. I don’t worry about him coming after me anymore like I did
years ago, but when I get stressed or anxious, the nightmares
resurface. It’s the same type of scenario where I’m usually trying
to get away from him, but I’m trapped. Talking about it helps. I
only had one nightmare this week. Just between you and me, Cal
recently had an anonymous person sending him weird text messages.
I’ve been worried about him, so I think that might have triggered
it. The rest of this week I just kept waking up at two or three in
the morning. I start thinking about stuff and can’t get back to
sleep.”
“I didn’t have nightmares after my parents
passed, but I did have insomnia. I couldn’t fall asleep at all, and
my grandmother tried everything. Therapy helped a lot and time. We
all deal with grief and trauma in our own way. Just remember to
reach out to people when you need it.”
Wes was lying back on the hotel bed, running
a hand through his hair. He shifted the phone in his hand, and
those warm hazel eyes locked onto Ryker’s. “Don’t freak out on me
when I say this.” He paused. “I wish I was there with you to give
you a hug.”
Ryker smiled. “Don’t freak out on me either,
but I wish you were here, too.”
“What’s happening with us?” Wes asked,
rubbing a hand over his jaw, his lips.
“I don’t know, but it’s fucking scary,”
Ryker said truthfully.
Ryker’s mind wandered back to those pictures
of Wes in Atlanta, dancing with a handsome man. Was Wes being
truthful about wanting to be with him? These deeper feelings were
overwhelming for someone who only had casual relationships, and
Ryker couldn’t help but worry about what it all meant. Would they
be able to keep their work and personal feelings separate, or were
they creating a situation that was destined to come to a messy and
complicated ending?
There was a loud banging sound in the
background, and Wes turned his head. “Shit, that’s my fellow
writers come to drag me out to dinner. I gotta go, but call me
later if you need to talk, okay?”
Ryker nodded and Spock raised his head,
sniffing at the phone. “Spock, no, do not lick the phone!” Ryker
said.
Wes laughed. “I’m glad Spock is there for
you.” Spock barked at Wes’s voice and continued to lick the phone.
“Hey, Spock, give your daddy a kiss for me and make him feel
better,” Wes said. And with that, he gave a wave. Then the screen
went blank.
Ryker leaned his head back and closed his
eyes. Wes’s face and voice reverberated in his mind so clearly that
he finally, happily, drifted off to sleep.